Among my many pervasive fears, perhaps the oddest is the terror of being touched on my clavicle.
(This should not provoke you to try to touch my collarbone. It’s not a game — I don’t like it. Actually. I will like you less if you try.)
I have no idea where this fear came from. I did read a book in fourth grade where a girl broke her clavicle sliding down a banister and I still remember being bothered. I’m also irrationally concerned that someone will mistake my excessively protruding collarbones for handlebars and give them a yank. Yikes. Shiver. Etc.
At any rate, when you see this picture, you may see a “fucking hipster,” I see a guy that is unafraid to have needles driven into a part of the body that I protect like other women protect their lady parts. Which means this guy is a superhero. How did he do it!?
As a sidenote, I’m confused about why this half-tatted superhero is taking pictures of himself in a prison education center. Does anyone else see that dude taking his GED in the mirrors behind our man? Seriously. Where are you, Mister?
But still. Good job with that deer.
“Why would I buy a dumb nature t-shirt when I can have a dumb nature chest?”
